Fallen Angel III

 

Amidst the twilight's mournful hymn,

A fallen angel, grace denied,

Her wings of blackened, tattered plumes,

Reveal the scars of Heaven's pride.

Her flowing hair, as dark as night,

Frames a visage of haunted charm,

Within her eyes, a storm does brew,

Of sorrow, rage, and deep alarm.

She walks the line of shadows' edge,

A spectral beauty, cloaked in dreams,

Her gown of shadows, whispers soft,

A symphony of silent screams.

A presence both alluring, fierce,

Commands the air with unseen force,

Her figure, delicate yet strong,

Embodies life's most bitter course.

Clutched in her hands, a radiant blade,

Reminds her of a realm once graced,

Its glimmer speaks of ancient wars,

And memories that can't be erased.

A spark of hope still lingers near,

In yearning for redemption's kiss,

Her heart, a fragile battleground,

Where love contends with the abyss.

In this enigmatic, somber tale,

Both sorrow and forgiveness twine,

The female fallen angel seeks,

To mend her wings and fate's design.